Credentials at the Checkout Aisle
There I was, minding my own business in a local grocery store on a sleepy Tuesday afternoon, when I saw something that made me stop in my tracks. A laminated sign, taped haphazardly near the cashier, read: “NOW HIRING! Cashiers and Merchandisers – College Graduate Required.”
Aghast, I blinked twice. Maybe it was a misprint. I moved on to the department store next door. Same thing. “Saleslady Wanted – Must be a College Graduate.” And just like that, I wasn’t shopping anymore; I was spiraling. How did we get here?
It hit me even harder because more than a decade ago, I was living in the UK. There, this would’ve been unthinkable. In the UK, it’s common to see part-time retail roles — such as cashiers, baggers, and shop assistants at places like Tesco, Sainsbury’s, or Waitrose — filled by university students earning extra income while studying. These jobs are widely viewed as accessible entry-level positions that don’t require a college degree.
It was normal to strike up a conversation at the till and find out that the person ringing up your groceries was studying biomedical sciences or literature at a nearby university. There, jobs like these weren’t gatekept by a diploma; they were part of the journey, not a reward at the end of it. And that contrast stayed with me — not just as a memory, but as a quiet ache whenever I see how differently we value people here in our country.
In the Philippines, credentialism has crept into everyday like ants into sugar. This happens when people feel the need to collect degrees or titles just to be seen as qualified — even if those credentials don’t really match what the job needs. We require a bachelor’s degree to ring up barcodes or stack canned goods. If you’re not a “graduate,” then you’re automatically disqualified, regardless of skill, experience, or even common sense. We are living in an era where a diploma is treated like a golden ticket — not just to prosperity, but to any job, even those that, frankly, shouldn’t demand one.
To make matters more absurd, we’ve begun peppering our names with academic and professional suffixes like alphabet soup. It’s not uncommon to meet someone who introduces themselves with a name that reads like the tail end of a medical prescription: Juan Dela Cruz, LPT, MAEd, MBA, CSE-PPT, PhD(c). I’ve even encountered people proudly listing more than ten suffixes after their already long surnames even if it isn’t necessary to do so — like they’re collecting Scrabble tiles rather than building expertise. And in a high-power distance culture like ours, this behavior isn’t just tolerated — it’s admired.
Titles become trophies, and for some, especially the narcissistic types, they’re a form of currency. They bask in the applause that comes with every new credential, regardless of whether it actually means anything. It’s not about mastery — it’s about being seen. It’s about walking into a room and feeling taller because people have to call you “Doc,” “Engr.,” “Prof,” or whatever honorific they’ve clung to like armor.
And yet, when you actually talk to them, there’s little to no substance. No grasp of their supposed field, no soft skills, no leadership presence — just form without function – It’s all smoke and no fire.
And don’t get me started on certifications from organizations that, after a quick search, turn out to be glorified Facebook groups charging exorbitant “membership” fees.
Abroad, titles are more restrained. In many global circles, even professors insist on being called by their first names. In the Philippines, calling someone “Ma’am” or “Sir” goes beyond simple politeness. It’s almost second nature — a way we show respect, yes, but also a way we draw invisible lines between people. We even use it for janitors, messengers, or parking attendants — not to mock, but to offer them a kind of dignity in a society where titles often speak louder than names.
But here’s the irony: what sounds like kindness can sometimes echo the very hierarchy we’re trying to soften. Using “Sir” or “Ma’am” isn’t always about lifting someone up — it can also be about keeping things in order, keeping everyone in their place. It’s a culture where respect and status have been blurred, often reduced to what’s printed on your ID or stitched onto your uniform. (To be continued)/PN
